


How can I trust you?

by AllTheTime



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Murder, dance, mormor, salsa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 22:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11322795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheTime/pseuds/AllTheTime
Summary: He's back and Sebastian doesn't know if he can trust him again.This work contains mildly gross things, if rummaging in bodies for treasure is not your thing, please do not read.Okay, no one would read... There's more to it than that.





	How can I trust you?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not 100% certain on where I am going with this, I just fancied writing it and 1500 words fell out of me. I hope to continue this. This follows from the end of s4 and ALL s1-4 is canon within this fanfiction. (with the exception of Moriarty's death, but I never believed that anyway.)   
> Please write a little comment if you read it. Thank you :)

“This is disgusting.” Moran muttered a complained to himself, his fingers rummaged inside the body, he shifted organs with his bare hands, finally he found a firm lump nestled between the lungs, it started to sink further back in the cavity to the spine as he pushed his hand in.

“No! No!” he hissed at the object he pulled the memory stick out, he wiped it free from blood and an unidentifiable mucus that he assumed could only be congealed goo that had started to form inside the body four days ago. The smell was something he never wanted to experience again, he may have left a person dead before, but never, in his entire career, had his hands ever had to swim ungloved into a sea of wet organs. It was like nothing he had ever experienced.

Sebastian Moran had been following clues left for him around London for days, they were strange riddles and puzzles and they had all lead to this moment alone in the cold, empty mortuary. He wanted to believe the notes were from his former boss, but that would have to be some biblical event. He had seen James Moriarty fire a single bullet into his brains and that was that. He had never had such a flaky boss, or rather, none of his previous bosses had killed themselves to prove a point to some pompous asshole who also should have died. James had allowed their empire to crumble, all for what?

They were a team more than anything but Sebastian had to move on, he missed the work that Jim had given him and he had definitely missed the pay. Sebastian wasn’t alone, he and many people working for Moriarty were without work for months, the second he caught wind that there was something, he jumped at the chance to find Moriarty, and if it wasn’t Moriarty leaving the clues then it had to be someone with work.

He knew he wasn’t the only person searching, the clues were public, anyone could find them and he was on the last level, with Sherlock closely following the chase he knew he didn’t have long to get the memory stick into a computer to read. He bagged it quickly and left the body open in the morgue, the cameras had been disabled by someone else, someone had been there before him. He worried that it was Sherlock, he worried that Sherlock was beating him in the race but he wasn’t going to let Sherlock find Jim before him, he just couldn’t allow it.

His motorbike allowed him to race through London at a top speed of about, oh, five miles per hour. He swore as he got held in traffic, he couldn’t even weave between the stationary cars, Moriarty could be alive and he couldn’t just sit there in traffic, he mounted the central reservation, found a gap in the barrier and took off along a dangerous course down the wrong side of the road, it was a miracle he wasn’t caught.

Here’s a recap, cameras disabled, no police tailing him down the wrong side of the road and an empty morgue? It was all a little suspicious. He parked up outside his flat and rushed the stairs to his place, he didn’t have time to wait for the lift. Eight flights was nothing to him, with a lack of work he had been hitting the gym hard. He fumbled with the lock, once inside he pulled off his leathers, ditched his helmet and pulled the little baggy containing the stick from his pocket.

He rinsed the outside of the stick under the tap and dried it carefully, he pushed it into the port, it didn’t fit, he turned it the other way up, it didn’t fit again, turns out he had it the correct way up in the first place. He plugged it in and the laptop made a ding to let him know the device had been accepted.

“Please be real.” He whispered under his breath as he waited for the device to run, “Please be alive. Please.” It was more than financial stability, it was more than the work it was him. It was James Moriarty, he loved working for him, he loved being around him, he loved the glamour, he loved-

 

“I hope you washed your hands.” The Irish drawl made the hairs on the back of Sebastian’s neck stand up.

“I…” He couldn’t turn around, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d heard Jim’s voice post-death, he didn’t want to turn around to see nothing.

“You’re right, that is disgusting.” Jim laughed, “The lengths you people go.”

Sebastian turned around, when he saw the sharply dressed little Irish man he swore at him loudly, “Where the hell have you been!” He shouted.

“You have a filthy mouth, possibly your second most defining trait.” Jim quipped playfully.

A sharp sound unique only to knives sliding over metal rang out as Sebastian grabbed the nearest knife from the magnet under the cabinet. He threw it at him, Jim shrieked and moved sideways to avoid the impending knife. The knife jammed itself into the thick plaster of Sebastian’s modern London apartment, the only thing Jim had left him.

 

“You know, I think I liked you when you thought I was dead.” He tugged on the front of his suit jacket.

“I’ll make you wish you were dead.” He was angry, he wasn’t completely sure why until he looked at his unclean fingers, his ex-boss had made him fish around in a 5 day old corpse for a memory stick that was completely useless because he was just going to show up in his flat anyway.

“Is that a threat or a promise, Sebby dearest?” he asked as he stepped towards him, “Because I have got to tell you, it’s a very alluring offer.”

Sebastian laughed, this was all so ridiculous, “What’s on the memory stick?” he asked.

Jim actually allowed himself a steady breath now knives weren’t being thrown, he was usually pretty good at predicting other’s actions, he wasn’t expecting knives to be thrown, but then he had been dead for a few years and left Sebastian without good work.

“Oh, I thought Sherlock Holmes would have beaten you to the body and recovered the memory stick.” He shrugged, “I see I was wrong about you. Clearly you’re smarter than I thought.”

“You… Jim, I attended two universities, I was a colonel in the Army, I… I have always been top of my class and you think that oaf Holmes would get to the body quicker?” He shook his head.

Jim loosened his tie, “I said I was wrong about you, please don’t let me say it again, I don’t like being wrong, it is so bad for my image. Speaking of image, you need a shave honey.”

Jim and Sebastian had never been an item, there were rumours, but Jim flirted with everyone, Sebastian had always tucked away any feelings for his boss out of professional courtesy, he had a job and he focussed on that. Not having real work for so long had let his mind wander and he had been able to imagine his boss in many situations that previously he would never even dream of in his craziest fantasies.

 

“Drink?” Jim offered as he took the whisky from the counter and unscrewed the cap.

“Please.” Sebastian answered quickly before he frowned, “hang on, this is my flat, that’s my whisky.”

“What’s yours is mine.” Jim poured two generous glasses.

“We ain’t bloody married!” He exclaimed as he slipped a large ice cube into both of the glasses.

“You know I’m having a really big problem trying to work out if you’re angry with me or… Or what? What is this attitude, can you pick a mood?” he asked him.

Sebastian drank his whisky quickly, the ice cube sat on his lips, numbing them slightly, “I’m annoyed, you left me with no explanation, I’m confused why you couldn’t tell me that you were alive all this time, I’m angry you made me fist some guys chest cavity, and god, I missed you.”

 

There was a very long and silent pause, punctuated only by the kitchen clock, before Jim finally spoke.

“Hm, is it wrong to be aroused at the thought of you, ah, what was it? ‘fisting some guy’s cavity’?” Jim smirked and finished his drink slowly.

The room filled with music as Jim hooked up his iPod to the kitchen sound system, he strode towards Sebastian and slipped an arm around his waist, he pulled him towards himself and forced him to dance with him, Jim lead, for now.

Salsa, Sebastian’s weakness of course, something he had never told Jim, but he wasn’t surprised that he found out.

“I know you know the moves.” Jim purred, he nudged him and stepped on his toe, Jim was a terrible lead.

Sebastian rolled his body into Jim’s, his strong hands supported Jim’s back and forced him to move with him, he stepped across the kitchen, turned and practically carried Jim with him into the dance.

“I hate you.” He muttered as they got closer, “You’re not listening to the beat and together, no, left foot back, follow the lead.” He took control, that was Jim’s plan, how to make someone trust you? Let them lead you.

“I know.” He smiled innocently, “But you love this.”

“Why are we dancing?” He asked.

“Don’t tell me you’re not…”  He cleared his throat, “Excited by this.”


End file.
